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Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2014
My Second Letter to Allen Ginsberg
Dear Allen,
Almost five years ago, I wrote you a letter, and in
That letter, I purged my drunkenly woeful cries
That seem so first-world now and naïve –
The things I grimed over with luxuries I didn’t
Realize that rubbed against my plump limbs
Like millions of felines poised at the
Tombs of pharaohs.

Oh, Allen, I’m so tired –
These politics, and poly ticks, so many ticks that
Annoy my tics. Allen! I smear your name so liberally
Against this paper like primer because the easiest way
To coerce someone into listening to you like
A mother
or predator
tugging or nibbling on your ear –
Swatches of velvet scalped from a ****’s coat
Are you and I talking to ourselves again?
Candid insanity : Smoky hesitance.

Dear Allen, I’m so tired –
Yes, I love wearing my ovaries on the outside like
Some Amazonian soapbox gem glistening from beneath
The iron boots of what the newspapers tell me while
I cough at them with the hurdled delicacies of alphabet soup.
Give vegetables a gender and call them onions, Allen.
Sullied scratch-hicks pinioned feet from slapping
Society’s last rung on the ladder.
Ignore the swerve of small-town eyes.
Scapulas, stirrups, pap smears, and cervical mucus – now do you know who we are?

That fingernail clipped too short, Allen. We’ve all got AIDs
And AIDs babies, haven’t you heard? Hemorrhaging from the political
****** and out – they haven’t reached the heart.  
Since when have old white men given a **** about some
13 year old’s birth control? I’m riding on the waves of the
Parachute game and I swear this abortion-issue is just a veil outside Tuskegee University
Being further shove over plaintive eyes, swollen and black.
Pay up and
shut up.

I still remember my first broken *****, Allen.
Can you tell me all about your first time?
The vasodilatation that made veins rub against skin,
Delirious brilliance : unfathomable electricity.
I made love during an LSD experience, Allen,
And I am not sorry. I see cosmic visions and
Manifest universal vibrations as if this entire world is
A dish reverberating with textiles and marbles, and
All are plundering the depths of the finished wine
Bottle roasting in the sink like Thanksgiving Turkey.
The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.
The opening, between you and you, occupied,
zoned for an encounter,
given the histories of you and you—
And always, who is this you?
The start of you, each day,
a presence already—
Hey, you!

Ah, Allen, if you are not safe, then I am not safe.
And where is the safest place when that place
Must be someplace other than in the body?
Am I talking to myself again?
You are not sick, you are injured—
you ache for the rest of life.

Why is it that I have to explain to my students that
sometimes what I'm spouting is prescribed by a pedagogical pharmacy --
but all they want to know is "what do the symbols on the television mean?"
I am completely aghast against the ghosts of future goners --
I am legitimately licensed to speak, write, listen like some mothers --
I am constantly cajoling the complex creations blamed on burned-out educators --
I am following the flagrant, fired-up "*******"s tagging lockers --
Pay up and
shut up.

Yes, and it’s Hopeless. Allen.
Where did we get off leaping and bounding into
The dogpile for chump change jurisdiction, policing
The right and the left for inherent hypocrisies when
Poets are so frightful to turn that introspective judgment
Upon ourselves?
We didn’t see it coming and I heard the flies, Allen.
Mean crocodile tears. Flamingo mascara tracks
Up and down : up and down: bow – bow – bow – bow
Buoyant amongst the misguided ******* floating around
In the swirlpool of lackadaisical introspection.
What good is vague vocab within poetry?
Absolutely none.
Would you leave the porchlight on tonight?
Absolutely, baby.

Dear Allen, would you grow amongst the roots and dirt
At the knuckles of a slackjawed brush of Ever-Pondering Questions
Only to ask them time-and-time-and-time-and-time-again.
Or pinch your forehead with burrowed, furrowed concentration upon those
Feeble branches of progression towards something that recedes further
And further with as much promise as the loving hand
Attempts to guide a lover to the bed?

Allen, I wish to see this world feelingly through the vibrations of billions of bodies, rocking and sobbing, plotting and gnashing like the movement of a million snakes, like the curves collecting and riding the parachute-veil.

Ah, Allen! Say it ain’t so! Sanctified swerve town eyes.
And everything is melting while poets take the weather
Too personally
And all the Holden Caulfields of the world read all the
*******’s written on the walls and all the Invisible Men
Eat Yams and all the Zampanos are blind and blind
And blind and blind and blind and blind
Yet see as much as Gloucester, as much as Homer,
As much as Oedipus.

Oh, Allen, do you see this world feelingly
and wander around the desert?
Colored marbles vibrating on the curtailed parachute paradox.
Lamentation of a small town’s onion. Little do we know, Allen,
That what you cannot see, we cannot see, and we are bubbling
Over in the animal soup of the proud yet weary. I can see,
However, how the peeled back skulls of a million
Workboots and paystubs may never sully the burden
Of an existential angst in miniscule amounts.
Pay up and
shut up.  

My dearest Allen, there is always a question of how
The cigarettes became besmirched with wax to complement
What was once grass, and
What was once a garish night drenching doorknobs.
The night's yawn absorbs you as you lie down at the wrong angle
To the sun ready already to let go of your hand
As you stepped, quivering, on to
The shores of Lethe.
Cat Fiske Apr 2015
We all want to Support
stopping racism,
because we sent black and white men to die in war together,
before we could be educated together,

The end gender inequality,
Because women can't where cloths,
and feel safe,
walking down a street alone,
with out feeling were going to get *****.

Same or different *** relationships,
Because the way you love your significant other,
wouldn't be the same if they changed there gender to the other?

Transgender rights,
Because there a man everywhere else but in there pants,
And men don't get cervical cancers,
So yes legally changing my gender won't help me if i need a treatment only a lady would get,
and this goes vice a versa,
But I shouldn't have to worry about any other pains,
except the possibility of one in my unwanted ****.

**** victims,
including males,
Yes you,
Feminist views,
Please just Stop over looking,

Men go though it too.
And we all may know men may be the main cause,
Women have just as much play,
No human,
Wants an unwanted Violation,
to come into any contact with them so personally,

See all these things,
we want to stop,
and they need to,
but,

When u last walked down the street,
what stranger did your Arrogant eyes peek?
they saw someone,
and you though they were,

too fat,
too small,
too tall,
a ****,
needs to button up,
he used to pop pills,
now he cant pay his bills,
and there's so many I'm leaving out,
like what they thought about you,

so you see,
each of these little groups,
we just pass each other on the street,
even when we didn't even meet,

it's human nature,
our natural order,
to insult each other,
some just get the really blunt edge.

maybe we should change how we think and act,
before we go wishing for things out of our knack's.
I just hate all of these things tbh.
Premji Dec 2011
Who cares for her shattered dreams when she is
Brutally ***** on the very first night?
Who cares for her preconception health when,
For him, the only activity is making her pregnant?

Who cares for her repeated abortions
Which results in cervical damage,
Which in turn makes her unable to carry
The weight of a later pregnancy?

Who cares for not to satiate his excessive lust
When she is pregnant, which can cause
Abortion and maternal mortality?

Who cares for prenatal care that can keep
Her unborn baby and herself
Healthy during pregnancy?

Who cares to relieve her excessive work load at home
And her ever expanding stress to provide
High-quality child care for her five or six other children,
From earlier pregnancies?

Who cares for her signs and symptoms of anemia,
Her fatigue, increased heart beat or palpitations
Paleness of inside of eyelids, gums and nail beds
Desire to eat indigestible or peculiar foods?

Who cares for her backache, increasing weight,
Change in her centre of gravity and powerlessness?

Who cares for her malnutrition, poor health,
Lack of education, overwork, mistreatment?

Who cares for her dental hygiene, her broken teeth,
For the baby grows within is another tyrant
Who grabs Calcium, even from her teeth and bones?

Who cares for her cramps and muscle spasm,
Heartburn and indigestion , insomnia?

Who cares for her needs to go to the toilet frequently,
As the growing baby reduces her bladder capacity?

Who cares her inability to get comfortable
When she has neither clean water nor safe sanitation,
And necessary support either from health services?

Who cares not to tense her,
Already she is suffering from all sort of
Tension and high blood pressure?
And her mother-in-law terrifies her again
The consequences if the newborn could be of a girl!
Sad, woman is the greatest enemy of
Another woman, in the most needed times!
If she dies, none is worried...
For he can marry once again!
More dowries, more *** and more kids!

Who cares for her post natal depression ,
As none to take care of the newborn and other kids,
She has to run for office and other workplaces
With heavy *******, pain and bladder infections?

Who cares that every pregnancy weakens her a lot
As she need some time to recover her health...
And on the very day she can spread her legs,
By force, he starts his activities again!
He knows how how to starve the newborn
Just by emptying her *******!

When things are like this,
Every religious clergy flays
The limiting of the family size by birth control!
Christians wish for a Christian world
Muslims dream for a new world under Islam
Hindus, Buddhists, Jews and
Every religious fanatic dreams of the same!
They offer gifts for women for bearing
More and more children
For more children is their cheapest weapon!

When will they dream for a HUMANE WORLD?

Healthy children need healthy mothers.
Healthy mothers need healthy food,
Loving husbands (optional!) and caring society
For true world is made of love!
robin Apr 2015
SKY BLACK AS TAR AND TWICE AS THICK GOD I KNOW YOURE NOT SUPPOSED TO WISH DEATH BUT THE WORLD WOULD BE BETTER OFF I ******* SWEAR OH!!!!!!MY GOD I KNOW SCREAMING DOESNT MAKE GOOD POETRY BUT I WANT TO TEAR MY HOME TO PIECES TEAR MY FINGERNAILS FROM THEIR BEDS CURSES CAST OUT WILL COME HOME TO ROOST BUT I WOULD SACRIFICE ANYTHING TO SEE YOU DEAD!!!!!!!DECAPITATION ISNT PRETTY LIKE THE PAINTINGS HUMAN HEADS DONT POP OFF AS CLEAN AS BARBIES BUT ILL SAW THROUGH YOUR CERVICAL VERTEBRAE AND THE LAST WORD ON YOUR LIPS WILL BE A GURGLE!!!!WITH YOUR BONES UNDER MY BED I WILL SLEEP PEACEFUL FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YEARS YOU ARE POISON EATING THROUGH THE HANDS OF MY FRIENDS YOU ARE THE DEVIL QUOTING SCRIPTURE IN THE EARS OF CHILDREN!!!!!TRIGGER DISCIPLINE KEEP YOUR FINGER FROM THE KILLING STROKE TILL YOURE READY TO COMMIT ARE YOU SURE? ARE YOU SURE? ARE YOU ******* SURE ARE YOU READY TO SHARE YOUR BED WITH A CURSE KEEP YOUR FINGER OFF THE ******* TRIGGER BEFORE YOU SHOOT YOURSELF IN THE FOOT WHAT THE ****!!!!YOU TOLD ME YOU WERENT CRUEL!!!!YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE SAFE I ******* BELIEVED YOU AS IF I DESERVED SAFETY AS IF I COULD TRUST YOU BUT YOURE ******* EMPTY!!!!WEARING MY FACE TO COVER THE ******* HOLE IN YOURS  WEARING MY SMILE YOU USED ME YOU USED ME AND YOURE WEARING MY ******* SMILE!!!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR! LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!­LIAR!LIAR!LIAR!
liar! liar! liar! liar! liar! liar! liar! liar! liar! liar! liar! liar!
Cedric McClester Apr 2017
By: Cedric McClester

Despite some misconceptions
And attacks
Endure for centuries
By us blacks
Let me lay down
Some unknown facts
How ‘bout we start with
Henrietta Lacks

For most of us
After our death
Other than memories
What else is left?
For our survivors
The bereft
Yet her cells live on
It’s a matter of theft

From Henrietta’s
Cancerous cells
A bold idea
Suddenly jells
Spawning cures for cancer
As her biographer tells
And in vitro fertilization
Other things as well

Science took complete advantage
Of her cells
Which they still manage
Though she died of cervical cancer
Her cells provided them
With the answer
To scientific mystery
Check out her cells history











Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.
enjolras Jul 2014
I lose myself in your orbitals
whenever they focus on me.

I want to bury my cephalic
in the crevice of your cervical.

I long to keep your brachials
around my dorsum.

You have
amazing scapulars.

Thoracic to thoracic.
Or our palmars intertwined.

Digitals tracing patterns
on each other's abdominals.

Press your oral to my buccal
and we'll see how this goes.
Kimani Jones May 2010
You say I am the backbone of the family.
Not because I am the youngest,
But because I never showed my emotions.
But I think it's time to let go.
Because when she died,
I was the only one who didn't cry.
But i cried on the inside.
And, when they buried her 6 feet under,
My heart skipped 6 beats and I was choking.
Yes, it's time for me to let go of my emotions.
Because you say I am the backbone.
But, I am not strong enough to support 3 sisters,
1 brother, 2 aunts, 1 uncle, and 3 cousins with this,
Skinny backbone.
Arthritis can't help because I am still afraid to break down.
"You have always been the backbone, no matter what."
But,
I am tired of being Miss Motivation.
You are breaking me down form my,
Coccyx to my,
Sacral to my,
Lumber to my,
Thorracic and,
You're giving me Cervical Cancer.
And instead of being a backbone,
I feel more like a ligament.
Connecting your tears to her tears and,
Her tears to his tears and,
And that tears me apart.
You're swelling up my heart from all your pain and,
Right now it's about the size of a catchers mit.
I don't want to be the backbone.
I am not strong enough to suppport the whole family.
Why can't you see that you're exhausting me?
Kiaren, Kirsten, Kaye, Lloyd, Aunt Atheda,Aunt Regina,
Uncle Tony,Chris,Oliver, Aaron...
I am tired of being your backbone.
I am not that strong.
Copyright Kimani Jones 2010
Luke Gagnon Jul 2015
1                                                                ­    4
she offers me,                                             a spot of dust
she raises me                                              under the couch,
on platitudes and warm bread                I know it’s
in return for my devotion                         there

she loves me like the boats                       today, I start spring-cleaning,
she keeps out on the ocean                      (this alone
she loves me to be molded,                      should receive
not to be unfolded                                     more recognition than it will)
                                                           ­           I pull out the couch
she bore me bones                                     the vacuum doesn’t quite
the lacrimal bone                                       reach the dust lying
the breastbone                                            on unused carpet,
all the cervical vertebrae                          the head
I use them to simulate                              keeps hitting the wall
her expectations                                        unproductive
­
                                                                ­     I put the furniture back
2                                                           ­        in place
I have names,                                             no one will see the lack
I wear them like badges                           of progress
inspired by something not quite
earned yet                                                   5
         ­                                                            while­ lucid dreaming
I assigned                                                   conste­llations were on
each name                                                  my skin
a compartment                                          and freckles in
of me                                                           the night sky
If I name them maybe
they will become                                       pollution drowned out
real, not just necessary                             two thirds
                                                          ­           even if most imploded
                                                        ­             before they were seen

3                                                          ­         6
with enough necessity                             were it not for shadows
anyone can tell a lie                                  I would surely learn to
                                                              ­       hate the light
you can read this vertically or horizontally
SP Blackwell Jan 2015
II

Do not be afraid, my darling
I see you.
I see your tattered spirit
and stripped flesh
wandering in darkness.
Alas!
we are kindred,
you and I,
for I too have been
murdered.
I have died a hundred times
and I have lived a
hundred and one
We, who are dead
but still breathing,
are kindred.
I have been poisoned by
the nectar of lust. And
this nectar was
sweet and it was
intoxicating and it was
addictive and it was
******* lust.
It was fed to me by
a man posing as
a god and he kept
my goblet full and
I was paralyzed.
He was not a god
nor a man.
He was a snake,
a false prophet.
The nectar was
venomous and
my blood,
my body, and
mind were
laced with
paralytic venom
I could not move
and died waiting.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who have died
waiting and paralyzed.
We who have been
murdered by false
prophets and snakes.
We are kindred with
Eve and the apples of
Eden, we who are
poisoned but  
still alive.
In this paralytic state
a surgeon came
and he said unto me
“I will let you be free”
and he cut into me.
He entered my chest
so delicately and
so eloquently he
whispered to me
“ Darling, if I cannot
keep you I can’t let
you be free.”
He wanted a
keepsake, a piece
of my heart.
Something which I
would never just
willingly part.
He took a small
piece though I
screamed to
his claim. This
was not my love,
just blood,
muscle, and veins.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who walk around
with pieces that will
never be found.
We who have filled
the empty cavity with
other objects to
replace what can
never mended.
Do not fear, my darling
we are still pumping
blood and we
are still alive!
An artistic healer
found me wandering.
He said unto me,
“ My love, I see your
rough edges and you
are flawless to me
with all your perfect
imperfections.”
I was his canvas
that could be remade
to what he wanted
me to portray.
He molded me,
bent me,
folded me,
painted me.
He chiseled away
at places that
were already weak
places that were
untouched by people
like He. I was his
muse which he
misused, abused,
and attempted to
create and sculpt
art, which I was,
to his vision
of what I should be.
He coated me,
plastered me,
froze me in time but
paper machete is fragile
and I never asked to
be molded or painted.
Slowly I broke free
from thee. Death by
art was not meant
for me
Alas!
My darling,
do not be afraid.
We are kindred
you and I.
I see you in all
your molded glory
upon the altar
which he built
to display a creation
which he did not create.
I am the one
who chiseled
at the cement
and the plaster
and the paper
and the alter
so that we can
escape a different
type of cage.
I see you broken
but uncaged.
A builder of dreams
approached me and
he said unto me
“ You are a rarity
in a world full of
mediocrity. A rare
bird like you should
not be caged.”
He built me a castle
made of sand and
deafened me with
promises which
were lies. The tide
rolled in and castles
made of sand were
taken back to sea
and i was deaf
and I could not
hear the rumbling ,
the crumbling,
the mumbling as it
was all swept away.
I was asphyxiated by
the sand and sea
of empty promises
and lies
and expectations
that I found myself
chocking on.
Do not be afraid my darling.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We have
swallowed
and choked
and  inhaled
the dirt which
posed as sand.
We who have been
drowned in lies.
We who have
been buried and
have touched the
ocean floor at great
depths have come back
to the surface.
Alas!
We are still swimming.
We are the ones who
saw the shore and
returned to land
with our feet firmly
planted on sinking sand
and unsteady ground.
Hush my darling, and do
keep our secret safe.
Hush and never let them
know that we, who are
dead but living, are the
ones who created the shore.
We have a multitude of
little deaths. Deaths which
showed us life, joy, and
pain.
Alas!
My darling,
we are kindred
you and I.
We are the masochists.
We invite the murders in.
We who see the axe in his
hand as he knocks and
yet we still allow the
murderous aftermath
to begin with no regard
for the clean up.
My darling, we take with
us a piece of our killers
as they have taken a
keepsake from us.
Alas!
My darling
we have taken
we have learned
we have observed
we have seen their
surgical precision as
they have taken us
apart. We have
mended and
stitched and
sewn and
glued and
filled and
repaired
ourselves.
Oh my darling
do not fear for
we who are
still alive
still fighting
still breathing
still living
still pumping blood,
we have taken
their murderous
intent. We who
were victimized
by batting eyes
and lies that left
bitterness as an
aftertaste have
have learned to
lace honey with
arsenic. We are
kindred, you and I.
We are different
now. The stichting
and filling
and sewing
and gluing
has changed
us.
We are not afraid,
my darlings.
We see you.
You who have
caged and
trampled and
opened and
taken and
broken and
killed are no
longer feared.
Be afraid
my darlings.
Alas!
We see you.

III

I am a serial killer.
I have ravaged
empty vessels
which once upon
a time were
filled with ideas
of what could be.
I am innocent!
I slay the murderers
who murdered me.
Those who murdered
we.
I and we have
perfected the craft
which you,
and you,
and you,
and you
have used as
weapons of
mass distraction,
mass destruction.
I am the one
who distracts
and destroys.  
I have ingested
sufficient venom
to become
arsenic laced
honey.
I have let a
man drink
from me ‘til
he could drink
no more. He
drank himself
to insanity.
Oh dear!
I fear I did
not warn him
of the venom
that’s within.
What once was
just plain honey
is now
poisonous
to him.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
cervical slayers.
But again
I am innocent!
I once sheltered
a wretch and
he sought
sanctuary
inside of me.
He never looked
at my eyes.
Only prayed at
the church that
he made betwixt
my thighs.
Oh dear!
I fear
I did not mention
that this was not
his church. It was
my sanctuary which
was now covered
in his dirt.
Death by exertion
was his end.
I let him die *******
but I did not let
him win
A tragic death
for a stallion
like he. Because
I am small he
underestimated me.
Like Helen of Troy
I brought
destruction
upon thee.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
psychological
terrorizers and
verbal mesmerizers.
I have linguistically
lobotomized men
who thought they
could philosophize
the origin of I.
I have sown the
seeds of doubt
within the halls of
confidence which
have lain within his
mind.
I have broken
fortress walls
that were built to
withstand the  
wrath that fell
upon *****
and Gomorrah.
We have cut out
the tongues of
our verbal
betrayers and
left them befuddled
in Babylon.  
Oh dear!
I fear I forgot
to mention that
Freud is my Father
and Jung is my
uncle.
Your mommy issues
do nothing for me.
I am not her!
I am a child of
psychology.
Rationally you are
weaker than me
mentally.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
egotistical thrillers.
I have paralyzed
and anesthetized
men who have been
thrice the size of me.
My scalpel is sharp
and my steady hand
cuts as deep as my
verbal violations.
This is my body.
This is not your nation.
My dissection was but
a brief vacation to
your annihilation.
Your internal organs
were similar to an
egotistical colonoscopy.
You thought your
insides were different
from me.
You required proof
that we were the
same.
I said
“Let me cut first”
and you did not
complain.
Oh dear!
I fear I failed
to mention I’m
quite skilled and
I have killed before,
far better men and
even their ******.
I am a serial killer!
A killer of killers!
You are a cheap
thrill as I reap
and I sow.
I plant the seeds
that I know will
not grow.
You will stay frozen
and will get old.
I need not a keepsake.
I own your soul.

IV

We are naked.
Our flesh is worn
and our spirit torn.
The garments which
once kept us warm
are now just eaten
and tattered.
We have silently
walked
and waited
and paced ourselves
and learned hatred.
WE have come
back home where
board games and
Barbies wait.
I have broken
all my favorite toys
just like you
and you
and you
and the horse
you rode in on
have taken all
my simple joys.
You have all
taken away
a piece of pink
and replaced
with a piece of
grey. A piece
which will never
be the same.
Oh Darling!
Do not fear for me
do not fear for we.
We have become the
porcelain women
which watch
and wait.
Our pink colored
kingdom shall
never be invaded
because here we
are waiting.
Not even shoots
and ladders or even
the Madd Hatter
can lead you to
green pastures.
Oh my!
You failed to notice
the malicious
twinkle in
my eyes.
I fear this was
your fault
for you created
a steeple
betwixt my
thighs.
Silly rabbit,
we were never
yours.
I was always
mine.
This is
not revenge.
This is a warning
before the rhyme.
wordvango Feb 2016
as graphic as yours  
a slowly lifted skirt
a hand on her thigh
gliding up to her bare heaven

bare ******* with tense ***** *******
gasping sounds cries of yes yes yes
her hands on my man pride
stiffening in the limelight

a little more risque a spank on a bare
cute well formed ***
a ******* in the backseat
a tongue teasing a small cute slit

two girls and a ******
or two midgets and one twelve inch ****
the words loud raw pelvic **** me
yes yes yes

or is it more ***** to show the latest massacre
in a school 26 dead, or
a misguided american "Smart" bomb wiping out six doctors without
borders and 50 Syrians

or the lies of our politicians promising us the world so
we may vote for them , or a young girl who is naturally
getting experimental getting pregnant and giving up her baby for adoption because she did not get education or protection. And then she gets HPV and dies at fourteen from cervical cancer

or is it just me that thinks the nightly
news and the stumping of a bunch of lying hypocrites is more *******
than a bare ******?
giraffe paradise seems bleak on bright days
as neon fruit baskets dwell
beyond reach and

each leaf is the noose;
a repetitive pressure that gathers
around cervical vertebrae

it keeps delirious as
steel strings bind relative necks
to gates that don’t want to open
Kara MacLean Dec 2010
cervical cancer
ovarian cyst
open your mouth
here's my fist
stomach ulcer
an inflammation disease
got pneumonia
from just a sneeze
inflamed pelvis
stomach cancer
shut the **** up
you don't know the answer
heart attack
blood clots
watch me as
my insides rot
my brain thinks
I've had every disease
but its funny
i've never had any of these
By: Kara MacLean
Here hails a huge, long and dragonish snake,
With myriads of dangerous heads on its thorax,
Roaming up and down in a nefarious duty
All over the African streets and hamlets,
Villages and terrains, the abodes of poor folks,
Swallowing daughters and sons of this land,
Swallowing a handful of them on each bite,
They are in a forlorn despair like never before,
Defenselessly succumbing to the dragon once in the grip,
Young and old, prebubescent and all others are cancers’ fodder,
Africa is truly diminishing to the abysmal jaws of cancer,
Forget of initial vices of ***, Ebola and leprosy,
Forget of the contemporary terrorism and ethnic warlordism,
Cancer is ruthlessly swallowing poor folks of Africa
Into its inferno of early deaths, rendering many parentless,
A knot for the living to put aside pride and seek genuine help,
For the myriad heads of dragonish cancer violently **** the prey,
I have seen sons and daughters of poor Africa in cancerous agony,
Often with a blocked food pipe when in the grip of throat cancer,
Non-stop vaginal bleeding at mercilessness of cervical cancer,
In the torture of brute pulling weight in grip of scrotal cancer,
On the top of maximum pain in the grip of breast cancer
Humorously desperate before menacing eyes of death,
When misfortunately in the grip of heart cancer,
Deathly starvation condemns many poor folks to grave,
Always when in the unlucky tentacle of intestinal cancer,
In this desperate land of Africa where basic hospital
Stands a luxury, affordable by the rich in the political class,
As the poor without choice die and die and die,
O who will take me out of Africa, this nonchalant Africa?
Before the dragon of cancer condemns me down to its
Inferno of pains and miserably violent death!
I fear death due to punctured lungs without solace,
I fear death due to stunted blood cells without succor
I fear death due to poisoned blood without palliative
When the cancerous heads of ; lung cancer, blood cancer,
And Liver cancer will besiege this land of Africa to hold me a captive.
Chestina N Craig Feb 2015
Your spine is a holy place
From the tip of your neck, to the cradle in your pelvis, it is baptized in your waters
Starting with cervical, a lucky number of seven sections
The number of days it took god to create the earth
Greek mythology tells me, Cer is the personification of a violent death
Vic means to substitute,
Therefore this section substitutes itself for your violent death
Holding up an unlucky number 13
Pounds.
Of skull, and flesh and
Blood. Which it facilitates the flow of
It has hollowed itself out for nerves
Hollowed itself out so that you may feel
Everything.

Thoracic.
A dozen protective pieces,like the disciples foundation
Hammered in by thor himself
God of the sky
The horizon within dotted by a heart, some lungs,
Spleen, stomach, diaphragm
Stars in your very own galaxy

Lumbar
Five little graces
Luminary
Holding enough weight so
that the sun could settle down
right between your hip bones
root within your nerves
Apollo has come to visit
Showing you just how much holy light you can carry
Geno Cattouse May 2013
Unless your a lefty then it crawls along the skyline.
Smudgless and contorted.

Unless the culture teaches right to left.
                      Otherwise.
                      Ride the skyline
                      Wrist like a cervical spasm?
                      A long necked goose preening his
                      Breast feathers.
Methinks a right handed world stinks to a lefty.
A much discouraged practice in the church when
                       I was just a lad
                       In league with the devil
Satans scribe.
Jesus Christ. I lapsed at 22.

I love god.
Just not the one I knew.
Do onto others as you would have them do unto you.

Case closed. Period. Full stop..
Except for sister Loretta. Please forgive.
I wanted to change her habit.
Stephen E Yocum Oct 2013
He came, reluctantly pulled by his head
At the hands of a masked man,
Using large metal,
Salad Tong appearing forceps,
Rudely, crudely yanked from his mother’s
Cervical embrace, into the glaring,
First Light of intended living and breathing.
His head now misshapen,
(To return to normal they assured,)
His little body more blue than pink,
Umbilical cord around his neck,

Absolutely ridged, not moving,
No sound did he make,
appearing more gone than here.

My own breath did cease until to my relief,
His tiny arms and hands did give notice
Of life, followed soon after by a fitting
Shrill scream of rebuttal, a rebuke to
The light, the air, the rude process
That had brought him there.

One moment at peace, safe and warm
Within his womb of tranquility, dreaming
Whatever dreams the pure and innocent's
Do dream, then abruptly ripped from
All that peace, out into all this!

At that moment I too wanted to join in,
Echo his howl, his guttural protestation,
I too swept up by that ethereal wave of disturbance
Feeling his struggle as if he was drowning in new found air.
For me, as if at this moment of his birth,
I too was being reborn.

My knees grew weak, I was for a instant dizzy,
I struggled to regain my own lost breathing.
Restart my own heart, fight back the water in my eyes.

I let go of his mother’s hand, she with eyes closed,
As if sleeping, exhausted from too many hours of labor,
My respect and love for her and her magnificent efforts,
Expanded then to boundless.

The tender masked women in white,
They with shining, smiling eyes,
Quickly cleaned, and wiped him dry,
Swaddled him in a tiny blanket and laid him into
My unaccustomed arms, and for the very first time
In our lives, I looked upon the face of my son.

At that precise moment, some purposeful mental,
Primordial emotional switch, was indeed flipped,
And I, WE would never be the same again.
For him at 40, my son, my best friend.
A bone meets another bone
And you have a joint !
Joints are allright !
Cartilage !
Without them you couldn't possibly dance !
Imagine only your sacrum and your ilium
and no sacro-iliac joint
And no innominate bones
Imagine just a second a pelvis without coccyx
And your seven cervical
Your twelve thoracic
And your five lumbar vertebrae
Hanging loose !
How could you possibly swing your pelvis
From one side to the other
Without your pelvic floor ?
No more grand plié
No more passé développé à la seconde
No more attitude en avant on pointe
Farewell penché
Farewell attitude derrière !
See what I mean !
That's why I always say
I'd rather be with no bone
No skull no heart
Ï 'd rather be a hurricane
Wind has no skeleton
Wind needs no joint
Wind goes naked
No shoes, no underwear
And despite of all that
Wind is a ballet dancer, a danseur étoile
With no dimples in the back.
Wind can lie supine and stand upright
Feet parallel, legs stretched
Wind has no greater nor lesser trochanter
Wind has no right gluteus maximus muscle
No feet flexed, no ****** femoris muscle
Wind never gets pinched, stuck nor jammed
Wind is constant ricochet, yo-yo, meanders
Gulf Stream !
Wind is a catwalk model
Dancing its swinging walk
Lendon Partain May 2014
I put a baby inside
Of the belly of my Bonney lass bride
Twice
Say the ****** covered by placenta
Looking through her *** to deaths eye
She may live he may die
He may live I'll lose my wife
Through the cream pie I stare down death
Between her ***** holds hemorrhage and life

Bleeding down her c-section

The acreted blood sac could cause infection
Already has
My baby gave multiple blood poisoned hits to her kidney

He's already a fighter I think he'll beat me up. He's going to come out with bigger boots than mine, prolly a bigger ****.

Hope they both make it.
I can't fix it
My hands are tied in the cervical opening, my minds wrapped in the emboli cal cord, and my fingers are twiddling thumbs nauseously in Beccas ******.

I should take Lornhes place in the amniotic fluid and gag myself in the fetal position


Or I could do what no one does these days.
Be a man of character.
Show him passion, knowledge, courage, and integrity.


Be a Father.

P.S. Son. All dads are letdowns, when you read this one day. I hope I have done my best. I Love You.

                                  Lendon Partain
I'm going to be a dad in 5 months.
Hope May 2015
I am a thing.
A conglomeration of atoms.
A little thing you can borrow
From him
Or her
Or anyone, really
But I’m also sort of yours
Just ask you
I am a milky neck beneath long sunny hair
Sunshine, you call me,
Old Man,
Just before you dig your boorish, ***** blutwurst fingers
Straight into my crunchy upper vertebrae
In the spirit of a "neck massage,"
Invading me
Injuring me
Insulting me
Bruising the skin like a ripe peach you have dropped ten times
With your sick fingertips
Until I fear cervical dislocation
That’s a broken neck in lay terms.
Skinny, you call me
Like it is my identity.
Like if I gained weight
You might call me Fatty.
Beautiful, you call me
Like it is my name.
I am not skinny. I am not fat.
I am me shaped.
I am beautiful, but that is the least of my graces.
My name is Hope, ******. Call me Hope.

I am a thing.
A conglomeration of atoms.
A little thing you can subjugate
Without even using your hands.
All you need are words
Because all I’ve got are two X chromosomes.
Women should obey their husbands.
Women should bear children.
Wait, WOMAN isn’t generic enough.
Females.
Females only go to college to get married.
Females spend too much time with other females
But females should not spend too much time with men.
Men.
A man is a male human.
A woman is a female human.
I am a THING that is a HUMAN BEING.
And I would ask you to treat me like one
But until I am more to you than a female
I cannot expect you to act like a man.
Cedric McClester Apr 2017
By: Cedric McClester

Despite some misconceptions
And attacks
Endure for centuries
By us blacks
Let me lay down
Some unknown facts
How ‘bout we start with
Henrietta Lacks

For most of us
After our death
Other than memories
What else is left?
For our survivors
The bereft
Yet her cells live on
It’s a matter of theft

From Henrietta’s
Cancerous cells
A bold idea
Suddenly jells
Spawning cures for cancer
As her biographer tells
And in vitro fertilization
Other things as well

Science took complete advantage
Of her cells
Which they still manage
Though she died of cervical cancer
Her cells provided them
With the answer
To scientific mystery
Check out her cells history











Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.
A Simillacrum Oct 2018
Icy burn, an ache
both dull
and knife point.
Am I going
insane?

Cervical, thoracic,
lumbar, and sacral
tension, or
is it
elasticity?
Am I going
crazy?

Dark days, I try to run
away from myself,
just to sniff in circles,
distracted, burning
daylight.

Good days, I practice
all the basic moves
a mixture
of modern living
and disregard
made me forget.

Guess I'm pretty broken.
Isn't the concept of
properly aligned
posture fun?
One day I was in the rural areas of Turkana County,
walking up and down perfidiously ,
in a style of  the devil when visiting
Job  the son of Amos in the land of Uz,
It was in fact in the Northern region of the County
near a town known as Small Spain,
it is bushy and full of wild animals,
i was  on assignment by a certain NGO,
to give food,*******,drugs and clothes
to the dwellers  of this desert region,
All over a sudden I pumbed into a riff-raff
of  peasants, wearing scrofulously lugubrious faces,
one of them , a young man was on the ground
reeling in pain from the snake-bite,
he had been biten by a deadly desert snake,
A yellow Mamba in fact, it left its fangs in his muscle,
it was pathetic and sorriest, as there was no clinic nearby,
the nearest hospital was one thousand miles away,
and  you know,there is no road,no vehicle nor bicycle,
no horses nor water boats, only Carmel,,donkey and goats,
were there plus few emaciated native cows,
Luckily enough a white man  who stayed nearby,
surfaced from nowhere, he also owns a small aero-plane,
He spoke Italian,Spanish,Swahili and Greek like a native,
so I don't knew which country of Europe he came from,
he picked the snake bite victim to his home,
he asked me to come along
we boarded his plane to Kitale,
where we have a government hospital,
We flew across the hills of Turkana land ,
thousand and thousands of miles,
it was i, the white man  and snake bitten man,
three strangers on one another in the aeroplane,
Bound strongly by human love beyond identity,
Our patient began getting worse and worse
In fact  he had began getting dull and motionless,
we landed in Kitale, the white man bought a taxi,
we rushed to the hospital, all us panting frenetically,
we got at the hospital found nurses having lunch,
they were slow and relaxed, as if death is their dish,
the African nurse who came was all but un-started,
she began asking  for the age and the  tribe,
The tribe of our snake bitten friend,
She also asked for where he works,
And where he often goes to clinic,
worst of  all, she asked where he goes to church
she again demanded for seven hundred shillings,
the white man gave her the money,I was broke as usual,
He gave her a bank note of  one thousand shillings
she declined , she instead  wanted loose money
she ordered us to look for her the  loose money
before  she could begin treating our friend,
before we got the loose money  our friend died
of heavy poisoning of the blood, snake bite
He roared like a bull in the slaughter house,
on his painfully preventable death,
the white man was very disappointed
the white man wept, he went back to his plane.
In a similar stretch with a case of  a referral hospital
in Eldoret, also another town in Kenya, it is big,
it is called Moi Teaching and Referral Hospital,
it has the largest cancer management unit,
in the whole of east and central Africa
from Congo to Seychelles is the only one,
it was build by tax payers money,
but local politics as influenced it otherwise,
workers and Nurses are substantially locals,
in fact from one clan, now they speak strangely,
patients from alien clan are never treated,
they must bribe to be treated,
if not you  go back sick and eat your tribe,
or if you are introduced by a local politician,
you be lucky to be treated your cervical cancer,
they charge medical fees exorbitantly,
but once you pay no doctor will come,
in fact patients who are admitted for in-patient,
rarely come out  alive, if they are one hundred,
eighty of them will die,twenty will go home,
only to come back after a while and then die,
out of this despair another white man from Germany,
has established a modern hospital , just nearby the referral,
it offers absolutely free cancer treatment services
as Africans keep on facilitating death of their own kin,
Blessed be the womb that gave birth to a European.
Alin Oct 2016
When it comes to forgiveness
In truth there is not a single body
to be forgiven except for your own
Let go of that self with an inner smile
Let these subtle flocculation dissolve in the pipelines
By inner knowledge
and flow Down the back
drawing the borders of the levator scapulae
On Both sides of the neck
where both lines shall meet to run down
through the gutter of the cervical curve
A clearing and space created for it by compassion and
Skin Replaced by the regenerated cells of the mind purified
And that pseudo-self delivered from the sacrum to the ***** of mother earth
with a truthful farewell.
Zero Nine May 2017
Herb smoke fills the room.
I watch TV through rising smoke.
I write rib to floor.
I ruin my cervical spine
To bring you this

No words will fix a messy bed.
You didn't make your bed.
Your mother made it.
Your mother made it.
And here you sleep.
...
Crandall Branch Dec 2017
Systemic chlamydia correct.

Cervical chlamydia dissimulate.

Asymptomatic chlamydia doubt.

Nonprescription contraceptives own.

Dangerous medicines convert.

Artificial contraceptives stand.

Lethal doses swim.

Other coccidia discredit.

Usual immunizations perform.

Standard doses admit.
i am training to be a doctor maybe a crab doctor so i gathered some inspiracion from my learning. a nice acrostic. please leave comments and feedback below :)

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